Not Your Girl
by motorcyclesfly
Summary: COMPLETE! Rogue makes a bid for independence after she finds love with someone unexpected, but Logan isn't willing to accept she doesn't want him anymore. Rogue x Pyro and onesided Logan x Rogue.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Not Your Girl

Summary: Rogue makes a bid for independence after she finds love with someone unexpected, but Logan isn't willing to accept she doesn't want him anymore.

Major Characters: St. John, Rogue, Logan, Scott, Bobby, Kitty

Minor Characters: Jubilee, Ororo

Pairings: Rogue/Pyro, one-sided!Logan/Rogue

Setting: AU Post-X3. Most of the fic carries on from X3 (Alcatraz attack, the existance of the cure) but with a few differences: Scott survived Jean's return as Phoenix, Rogue never took the cure, and Pyro never left the school.

A/N: Instead of emphasizing the crush on Rogue's part, this fic is mainly one-sided (Logan's POV) Logan/Rogue. I wanted to try something a little different, and hopefully pulled it off. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think and how it can be improved.

* * *

I breathe in her scent before I hear her arriving; turning around, I watch Rogue drift through the door of the Danger Room. She is flanked by Bobby on her left and St. John on her right, Kitty at her heels. I've never quite gotten over the appeal of seeing her in leather, and considering I've required the advanced students to wear their uniforms to the training session today, her appearance is stunning. Tight leather pants hug her hips and smooth down her thighs, the bustier she wears flaunts her curves. She steals my breath and never even notices.

While Jubilee and Kitty vy to be my partner for the exercize, I watch Rogue warm up. She stretches her left leg before her, bending down until her hands are balanced on the floor. Her eyes are on St. John, and he is staring back at her with an intensity that is almost scary. Bobby seems oblivious, standing upright, coating his hands in a thin layer of ice before letting his body turn completely to ice, translucent blue, then back to flesh. I watch Rogue wiggle her ass as she bends to touch her toes, and nearly growl at the smirk on St. John's face as he stares at her. He licks his lips and then I _do_ growl, making Kitty jump, but neither Rogue nor St. John pay any attention. Rogue slides into a split, smiling affectionately at Bobby when he notices and walked over, but Pyro's gaze never falters as he stares at Rogue like she is a steak and he is starving.

"All right!" My voice booms loudly through the room, and that drags Rogue off the floor. "Partner up."

Reluctantly, Rogue allows Bobby to catch hold of her wrist. Pyro steps back, nodding towards Jubilee, but I reach him before she does, pulling him towards the front by his shoulder.

"Ah, come on," he hisses, his voice low but not so silent I can not hear.

"Quiet," I snap back. "Concentrate for once and you could learn something." There is no way I was letting him near Rogue, not again. I'm not particularly fond of Bobby either, knowing Rogue could do better, but at least Bobby is a gentleman. He doesn't look her over like she is a buffet spread out before him, the way Pyro does as I watch, anger building, and although I definitely do not like the idea of them getting physical, from what I'd gleaned from Rogue's diary, he'd done nothing more than give her a chaste peck on the cheek every now and then when he musters the courage. St. John, on the other hand, is not known to be a man of restraint.

"Your mission is simple -- rescue one of our own." I'd had a different simulation in mind, but watching Rogue flirt with St. John makes me want to shake things up; at least that is what I tell myself as the plan forms. She is getting into hot water, drifting closer so she can hover near St. John, which reminds me of the time we'd nearly lost her atop the Statue of Liberty. I feel like I'm losing her as St. John captures her attention again. "We're up against Mags and Co. today, so be prepared for all the usual suspects: Mystique, Sabertooth, Marko and the rest of the Brotherhood."

"Who're we saving?" Pyro asks, all business as we gear up and complete our final stretches.

"Her," I say, jabbing a finger towards Rogue. My voice is loud enough for her to hear and she glances up in surprise.

"What?"

"You're the bait, kid," I inform her. "Come on up."

She walks towards me with an annoyed expression on her face, her arms crossed over her chest. I distantly hear Jubilee sigh, but Rogue ignores that, as do I. "Whose got me?" she asks, resigned.

Calmly, I rest one hand on her shoulder, the other settling as close to her hip as I dare. "Me."

"What?" Pyro demands, but I glare at him before he can say anything more, and he falls silent.

"A little twist," I supply. "You've got to find Rogue before Magneto does, and then you've got to try to get her away."

"From you?" Kitty breathes nervously.

"Yep." My grip tightens on Rogue's shoulder as I activate the simulation. The room seems to expand impossibly, the bland scenery changing into water, land, a tall perch above a small island.

"You've got to be kidding me," Rogue whispers as we rise alongside the Statue of Liberty, which forms around us. In the tower, at the top - she is completely pale and I falter for a moment, regretting all those memories I am re-awakening in her. I stop myself from changing the sim though, the heartache at what had almost happened to her surfacing. The kids need this practice, hell, I need this, to see that they could save her if they opportunity presented itself. I have never forgotten how limp and still she had been, her skin's warmth fading as I hauled her out of her restraints and crushed her body against me. Soon, the kids will become X-men, those that aren't going to college first anyway, and I have to know that if I wasn't there, they could rescue her.

Quietly, I take her gloved hand in mine and lead her through the large lobby where I'd first clapped eyes on Mystique. Seeing in Mystique an exact replica of myself, complete with a dirty grin like she was really enjoying me driving my claws towards her face, had given me momentary pause, giving her an initial advantage. It had been strange, ducking to avoid my own claws. Hers had shattered upon contact, and my breath had emerged from my frozen lungs then; for one horrible second, I'd thought it was another me, some animal created in a lab and unleashed. When I'd finally stabbed her, as Storm, and watched her body turn blue, I'd been utterly relieved.

"I don't like this," Rogue whispers softly, her breath in my ear.

"I have to know," I state. "If they can do this." She seems to understand, and falls silent, so I go on, my memories flooding me. "When Magneto had you -- I could hear you screaming, but --" I pause, feeling her hands shake. Pulling her close to me, so her head rests against my chest and I can stroke her hair, I go on. "I couldn't reach you. Magneto had us all restrained and there was no way to fight him at first. It made me sick, hearing you above me crying out for help and not being able to rescue you, and then, when I was able to get to you, he held me back with my own damn adamantium. I watched your hair change color." I touch her hair, remembering her voice as she'd cried and the front strands of her hair went white. "If Scott hadn't been able to blast Magneto, I don't know what would have happened. By the time I got to you, you were nearly dead. I touched you and nothing happened." Swallowing, I hear her crying softly and feel like a bastard for bringing up all the memories that torture her, but it isn't something I can help standing here, in the artificial representation of Liberty Island. "I thought you were dead. Now I need to know that if I wasn't there, the team could rescue you."

She raises her head and looks at me with reddened eyes, tears hanging off her long lashes. "Logan," she begins, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. She gives me a small smile. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

Her proximity arouses in me the jealousy and protectiveness I've felt forever. "I know that," I tell her, trying not to leer as my gaze travels down her body, drinking in the sight of her curves clothed in leather.

"Then you know you don't have to take care of me anymore," she goes on, and something about that hurts. "I can take care of myself. You don't have to relive awful events to make sure they'd come out all right the next time. There won't be a next time." She looks a little defiant and takes a step back when I touch her hair. "Do you want me to dye my hair?"

"Huh?" I can't make sense of the direction she's taken the conversation.

"Well, I thought maybe the white streaks remind you of that day." I don't understand and she apparently senses that, because she goes on. "You touch my hair all the time."

"Because I like your hair," I answer firmly, breathing in the scent of it. She uses a very light clarifying shampoo, something without a heavy floral scent, and I can smell her beneath it always, which I like.

Ignoring me as my hands go back to stroke her hair, she eyes the scenario below. We have a bird's eye vantage point; beneath us the students scurry in small boats to catch up to a larger ship, the Coast Guard vessel Mystique drives to the island. They are falling behind, I notice, my heart sinking. I catch Marie's hand as she leans out the window but she pulls away, shrugging me off. Instead of touching her, I join her by the window, following her gaze. She is staring at one of the boats as it catches up to the one carrying Erik and Mystique. For a minute I'm heartened, then I notice that the driver is St. John.

Pulling her away from the window, I try to smile. "How about a tour?"

"I'd rather --" she starts, but I lead her away and she complies, following me through the lobby. We walk past the plaques and the selection of brochures. "I never saw this part," she tells me. "I was strapped into the machine while we were in the boat, and he lifted it up from the outside. I guess I flew," she remarks bitterly.

I tell her about fighting Mystique here, the awkward experience of fighting an identical twin. She laughs a little and pats me on the shoulder when I tell her how Mystique licked her lips and charged me, then in mid-air transformed into her own shape. The laughter stills when we feel the ground beneath us shudder. It could be Colossus, but I know it is Magneto, and so does Rogue. She pales, her hands grabbing hold of my uniform jacket. "No."

"Shush." I grab her hand and drag her over to a shadowed corner, making sure her back is against the wall before stepping in front of her protectively. I don't want anyone to touch her while my back is turned. Her chest heaves with panicked breaths, her breasts brushing against my back though I doubt she realizes it. She is caught in a web of fear, forgetting this is a program, completely artificial. I hate myself for putting her through this, but selfishly keep it going. Motionless, we listen.

Outside, a sudden commotion. Rogue escapes me and runs to the window. I follow her, peering down at the battle below. Someone must have dragged Magneto down as he flew towards us, bceause currently Kitty and Colossus are facing him. Piotr doesn't hold up well. He dons his armor, but that gives Magneto an edge, forcing him flat on his back on the ground as Mystique reaches for Kitty. She phases just in time, but stops in her tracks as Mystique's form slims down to a replica of her petite shape. Facing herself, Kitty is caught off guard. I almost snicker, remembering my own experience, but it is too important to me that she shakes off the confusion and gets on with it.

Beside me, Rogue cringes as Magneto summons Sabretooth. It takes the burly mutant less than a second to rip Piotr's throat clean through. It is a simulation, of course, and Piotr is just out of the game, but Rogue starts to cry at the image of his body bleeding in the dirt, and I feel my own heart sink. Piotr's one of the toughest of the kids, and the most level headed, my vote for next team leader should Scott kick the bucket or retire. The students have just lost a valuable team member for the duration of the simulation.

"Hush, Rogue," I whisper, taking both her hands in mine as we watch Bobby and St. John join the fight. Mystique is still dealing with Kitty, unable to help Magneto as he gains a sudden coat of ice. The next minute, as he shakes free of Bobby's ice, Pyro hits him with fire. The flames engulf him as Pyro weaves a ring of fire around his body. Screaming, Magneto drags himself out of the flames, then bitterly wraps a metal rod around Pyro before the boy can dart or run. It binds him still and crushes the lighter he carries everywhere. Bobby is caught off guard, alone.

I wrap my arms around Rogue as Kitty darts and phases in vain. She gets one good punch in, but Mystique is too quick for her, leaping and kicking and catching Kitty before the girl to work her mutation and phase through Mystique's defensive limbs. One foot connects with Kitty's head and she sprawls on the ground near Piotr, unconscious. Abruptly, I stop watching. Rogue shakes a little, her head on my shoulder, and I pick her up. We're going to the top, the safest place, high above the action, maybe high enough to give me time to think how to handle it when Magneto and the rest get up here. I figure I'm meaner than any motherfucker who could kidnap Rogue in real life, but I'm so distracted by Rogue's scent, and the fear nearly tangible on her skin. Carrying Rogue in my arms, I make for the stairs, but a sudden bellow from down below, barely audible, catches my attention. I risk a glance outside and see Magneto fade out of the simulation, an icicle piercing him through the heart. Amazed, I glance down at Bobby. His hands shake, covered with simulated blood. As I watch, he frees Pyro and shakes Kitty out of her daze. Together, the three of them come for Rogue.

"Shit," I mutter. Inside, I'm bursting with pride in my team. They conquered Mags. Mystique's whereabouts are unknown, but the three kids are together and alive. I curse and wonder what happened to Jubilee, but my part in the simulation is coming now, and I am determined to make them work their asses off to get Rogue from me.

We go to the torch. Rogue takes one look around and goes pale, glancing around as if she expects to see Magneto's destructive weapon around here somewhere. "It's okay," I tell her, my fingers brushing through her hair. She's right, I do it a lot. It seems to be an obsession. Setting her down, I pull her close to me when she attempts to look over the edge. "No. Stay close."

"That's right, I'm your captive," she retorts sarcastically to cover up her nervousness.

I catch hold of her wrist and grip her hard. "Damn straight," I answer, jarring my thoughts to a halt as they head towards a favorite fantasy. "So act like it." With more force than I intend, I pull her arm behind her back, effectively cutting off any opportunity of movement. Holding her still, I hardly realize I'm nuzzling against her hair, my mouth open, practically purring. The dominance of holding her in place makes me high, but then I notice she is saying something, and pause to concentrate, my hand clamping down on her shoulder.

"I forgot, you like it rough," she says, laughing, her words freezing me to the spot. Did she just say that? I can't believe it. She laughs openly at me. "I have you in my head, remember, Wolvie?" she tells me, her face innocent again. She struggles to get out of my grasp and I nearly let her, I'm so surprised.

I nod slowly, thinking of the nameless women back on the fighting circuit, the rough sex in seedy motels. "I didn't realize you had all that."

"And worse," she reminds me, smirking again. Unconsciously, I tighten my grip on her, one hand keeping her hands still, the other arm wrapped around her stomach, forcing her back against me until her ass is pressed against the erection I was trying to hide. She falls silent, so I let go of her hands and turn her towards me, my thumb raising her chin so she'll look me in the eye.

Her face is still the picture of amusement despite our precarious situation. Her dark eyes sparkle as she looks me over, taking in the raised eyebrows and the quickened breathing. Her smile fades slowly and she bites her lip, regarding me without saying a word. I can see myself reflected in her eyes and I feel uncomfortably warm all over. Before she can look away, I catch hold of her hair and pull her close to me, then kiss her. It's not a gentle kiss, it's a needy one. Hot and desperate, my tongue flicks over her lips before rushing through their barrier, needing to taste her mouth. She doesn't move, doesn't kiss me back. I hardly notice, crushing my mouth against hers, sliding my tongue into her mouth with heavy thrusts. One hand cups her left breast through her uniform bustier, my fingers trailing over the nipple as I kiss her even harder. Snarling slightly, I nip her bottom lip hard enough to bruise her, needing to assert dominance and claim her. Maybe it is St. John's scent on her skin, or jealousy from their interaction at warmup; but primarily I keep going because she doesn't respond, and I need her to. It is only when I come up for air that I notice she is pushing me away, her hands against my shoulders, her cheeks hot and her eyes pained.

St. John reaches for her before I can pull her back, and that is when I become aware of the three kids. Bobby is gaping at me in blank, hurt horror; Kitty, for some reason I cannot fathom, is crying. St. John, however, seems much more aware of the situation than the other two. He has one arm around Rogue, who is resting her head on his shoulder and breathing rapidly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. His other hand contains a fireball. He gives me a menacing glare, his teeth actually bared, before tossing it. I feel the raging heat as the fire crackles against my skin; it burns, until Bobby's good samaritan kicks in and he douses the flames for me in a sheet of ice.

Back in the danger room, Colossus rises unsteadily from the floor, and Jubilee, who got captured by Magneto before even reaching the island, gets free of her imagined bonds, but St. John, Bobby and Kitty don't fade, as much as I want them to. Bobby looks at his girlfriend in Pyro's arms and doesn't say a word, just pats her shoulder awkwardly. He doesn't fight for her, doesn't take her away from St. John, and I want to shout at him for that, or better yet do it myself, but I don't move. Softly, I hear the words Rogue whispers to Pyro.

"I'm so sorry, John. I didn't mean it to happen. I don't know why he --" she looks at me over her shoulder and starts crying again.

"Rogue," I say, and reach for her, because she's my girl and for the life of me, I have no idea what's wrong. She flees from my touch, running right out of the danger room. I stab a finger at St. John instead of snatching her back. "You -- get out of my sight. You're finished with this class."

He goes without a sound, moving rapidly in the direction Rogue ran. I start to stop him so I can chase after her myself, but he whirls on me when I approach. "I did what you asked. I got her away from you." His voice is smug, defiant. With that, he walks away to where Rogue is sitting with her back to the wall, her face buried in her hands. My claws flick out of their own accord as he sinks down beside her, enfolding her in a hug as she leans against him wearily. I watch him gently kiss her lips, and then I am striding down the hallway, causing them both to leap up to their feet. Pyro bolts, taking Rogue by the hand, but I catch her before they can disappear on me.

"If you want to keep breathing, get the hell away from her," I advise him fiercely. He looks at Rogue, who nods at him to go, and walks off, shooting her looks over his shoulder. I catch hold of Rogue's hand and pull her back to the danger room, which is empty, the other students having seized the opportunity to run. Once we enter, I lock the door behind us, not wanting interference.

"What did I do?"

"I think you know," she snaps back. She looks angry, but what gets me most of all is the hurt in her eyes. She sidesteps me as I reach to touch her hair, mistrust evident in her expression. "What the hell, Logan?" she manages to ask before her voice shakes and her eyes brim with tears again.

"I kissed you. I -- I thought you wanted it." God, this is awkward. She glares at me through tearstained eyes, and I go on. "Rogue, I'm sorry if I misunderstood. We've always --" I break off, thinking of the times she has run to the door to meet me when I've returned from a long trip; of the dogtags she wore diligently, letting them hang between her breasts like a mark of ownership; the way she's never told me to leave, even when I've come to her room late at night or dragged her away from Bobby because I've needed her with me. I can't explain that, nor can I tell her that lately I've started to notice the way her clothes cling to her curves, or that I've dreamt of her undressed all except the gloves, writhing beneath me.

I hold her hand, hard, so she can't move away, and peel away her glove with my teeth. She glowers at me in confusion, then yelps as I press her bare hand to my face. Instantly, the connection opens. I feel her struggling to let go of me, but I make her hang on a few seconds, until I know the feelings have gotten through.

She staggers away as soon as I release her. Her eyes are wide as she looks at me. "You...?" She trails off, the question shining in her eyes.

"I love you, kid. Marie," I amend, my eyes on her unavoidable cleavage. "I thought maybe you felt the same way."

She backs off, shaking her head. "Logan, no, don't do this to me."

"Do what?" I ask. I watch as she puts her glove back on, covering herself up. I remember the way she has always been towards me, a little too accomodating, a little too welcoming of the way I infringe upon her privacy. It's gone now. She looks like my admission is a death sentence, actually hanging her head, her eyes dark not with intensity of feeling but with sorrow.

"Just don't," she shouts. "God, Logan, I'm not yours to take care of anymore. You can't go from wanting to protect me to wanting to fuck me and --" she sighs. "This is the Wolverine, isn't it?" I look at her questioningly, wondering where she got that from, and she glares. "I know you saw me and John. I know how you are, what's inside you. This is one of those instinctual things, asserting your dominance and all that, defending your territory." She takes a deep breath and touches the side of my face for a second. "I love him. Not," and she falters, her eyes meeting mine apologetically. "Not you."

"Marie, you don't even know this kid," I tell her, my voice taking on a protective tone. In my head, I hear her say it over and over again -- '_not you_'. It makes me want to gut somebody, but I reign in my temper, sure she does not mean it. "You can't tell me you're in love with the firestarter. What's he got to offer you, Marie? Tell me." My voice is gruff, challenging, but she refuses the fight.

"He makes me happy," she answers simply, her voice small.

"Happy!" I bellow. My claws are out, slashing dangerously through the air, but I'm hardly aware of that. I rein them in when I drag Marie against me, squeezing her upper arms tightly in a death grip, refusing to let go even when she struggles in pain. "I can make you happy," I tell her, my voice desperate. My hands slide down her arms until I am clinging to her hands, intertwining my fingers with hers. "I can make you happy, if you let me," I whisper, sinking down to my knees. I press my face against her stomach, my teeth bared against the smooth leather of her uniform. Somehow, I am close to tears. "Marie."

"Let me go, Logan," she instructs me uncomfortably. Weakly, my arms release her and fall back at my sides. She frowns down at me. "I'm not a kid anymore."

"No," I agree, breathing in her fragrance as I stare up at her from my position at her feet. "I know that."

"So let me make my own choice, okay?"

"But," I can't help it, I start nuzzling her, rubbing my face against her legs and belly, trying to rub my scent off on her. I'm marking her. She doesn't move away but I feel her stiffen. I take her hands and tangle them in my hair, her supple leather gloves soft to the touch. "You're mine," I tell her simply, unable to understand how she can argue with that plain fact. To the animal within me as well as the man, that is how it's always been. Everyone knows it, even Bobby. He's never protested, never refused to let her go when I came for her. The entire mansion knows she belongs to me, all except her.

"I don't believe you, Logan," she snaps. "How can you say that?" I start to tell her that she is my sole reason for sticking around, for this teaching job, for staying alive, but she cuts me off. "You've fucked all kinds of nameless women in bars, lusted after Jean, flirted with the entire female population of the school. You never once made a move, all the while I wanted you to. We were friends, that was it. That's all I want now." She heads towards the door. "Just leave me alone, Logan. I'm not your girl anymore."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Not Your Girl

Summary: Rogue makes a bid for independence after she finds love with someone unexpected, but Logan isn't willing to accept she doesn't want him anymore.

Major Characters: St. John, Rogue, Logan, Scott, Bobby, Kitty

Minor Characters: Jubilee, Ororo

Pairings: Rogue/Pyro, one-sided!Logan/Rogue

Setting: AU Post-X3. Most of the fic carries on from X3 (Alcatraz attack, the existence of the cure) but with a few differences: Scott survived Jean's return as Phoenix, Rogue never took the cure, and Pyro never left the school.

A/N: Instead of emphasizing the crush on Rogue's part, this fic is mainly one-sided (Logan's POV) Logan/Rogue. I wanted to try something a little different, and hopefully pulled it off. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think and how it can be improved.

* * *

"Hey kid," I call to Rogue the following morning as she strides into the kitchen. It's quite early, the sun is still in the process of rising and we are the only ones awake in the entire mansion. I want to show her I can play it her way, and my voice is as far away from lecherous as I can make it. "How 'bout one of your famous Southern breakfasts?"

Her expression is wary as she spares me a glance over her shoulder, but I'm already staring into the depths of my newspaper instead of at her ass, so she doesn't catch me gawking. I raise my eyes slightly and see her looking at me. Slowly a smile spreads across her lips. "You sure you're man enough for biscuits, eggs, grits and bacon this early in the day, sugar? Most the time all I see you do is sip coffee at this hour. All that food might be a little overwhelming."

"Don't forget the gravy," I call back, ignoring the slight on my manhood. At least she is speaking to me. I expected the silent treatment she has given Kitty lately -- for going skating with the Ice Cube -- or worse. My girl is in possession of a hellishly fiery temper, not that I've ever minded. But no, she hums softly under her breath as she gets out the pans from the cupboard and digs through the fridge for eggs and butter. I welcome the opportunity to watch her in the way I always have, my gaze a little protective but mostly possessive. I have every inch of her body memorized from staring at her constantly since we arrived here, and I know her movements and gestures as if I choreographed them myself.

She is wearing a pair of tight jeans today, the low-cut denim accentuating her hips and exposing a sliver of belly in between the pants and her long-sleeved shirt. She has her hair in a ponytail, the pale strands floating free like a halo near her face. Oh, her face. She gives me a mock-exasperated look as I reluctantly meet her eyes and then she beams at me. "Guess you're hungry."

I nod back, rustling my paper so I can pretend I am preoccupied with something else. An article on the mutant cure catches my eye. It's second page news, a back-seat to the ceaseless coverage on Alcatraz. Even though it has been months, the press has continued to hound Warren Worthington II and everyone who worked on the suppression project, looking for something juicy to report. Accusations have come out, rightfully so, about the mistreatment and enforced confinement of the boy we know as Jimmy, or Leech. When there are no new scandals to cover, someone can always dig up another partial body coated in ash, and question the destructive force that brought the place down. They don't know it was Phoenix, the dead Jean Grey, although obviously speculation centers around mutants, mostly Magneto's Brotherhood.

Dragging myself out of my thoughts, I scan the report on the cure. It isn't good. They've discovered its effects are impermanent, so most mutants who took it willingly or were shot at with cure weapons will regain their powers, but there are a whole host of side effects the FDA is only starting to become aware of. I shiver a little, remembering when Rogue appeared near the front door, suitcase in hand, defiant look on her face daring anyone to get in her way. I knew where she was going of course, had to step up and offer her a ride, but she refused me. I wanted to tell her no, tell her that her skin didn't matter, that I would always love her in spite of her gifts, hell, even for them, as they made her who she was. Her eyes told me she desperately needed to hear that, but I didn't say a word aside from offering her a lift and warning her against getting the cure so she could touch Bobby. Luckily, she never took it. She came home a couple days after taking off, her eyes red from crying, and for a moment I thought she had gone through with it, but then I noticed her gloves. It would be impossible to explain the twin sensations of relief and disappointment that went through me, but now, reading about what has happened to some of those who did take it, I'm thankful she never did.

"Careful," Rogue chirps as she sets a huge platter of food down before me. Smirking a little, she adds a gravy boat filled to the brim with sausage gravy. "It's hot."

"Like you," my mouth says, absent of my brain. I watch her draw back and I shake my head a little, trying to clear my thoughts. "_Thank_ you," I amend with a hearty smile.

Her eyes go from cloudy to clear and she offers a weak smile in return, though she keeps her distance, bewildered. I don't know why, since we've openly flirted before. "Hope you like it. I think I'll have mine outside. This is the last decent weather we'll be having in a while, if the meteorologist on the news was right." She picks up her own -- smaller -- plate and heads to the door, not bothering to say goodbye.

"Wait." I'm on my feet before she can even turn around, practically panting as I sidle up beside her. "I suppose I'll come with you. I could use some fresh air."

She bites her lip, considering, but then nods in surrender. I know what she's thinking, that I won't do anything foolish outside on the lawn all the students' windows face. She may be wrong. Nonetheless, I follow her. It's still quite early and most of the kids as well as the staff are asleep yet, enjoying the freedom that comes with Saturday morning. That means St. John, notoriously late sleeper, won't be making an appearance for a few hours. I'll have Rogue alone, at least for a little while, maybe enough time to bring her back over to my side.

We settle down on the front lawn near one of the massive pine trees. Neither of us have thought to bring a blanket for this morning picnic, but the carpet of browning needles is comfortable enough. For a few moments we eat in silence, Rogue glancing speculatively towards the school while I look at her, drinking in the scent of her. She is perfection in gloves, white ones today, the pair she got from Bobby when we fled to his parents' place after the attack on the school. She doesn't seem to notice me watching her as she serenely gazes at the sprawling lawn and takes small bites of her breakfast.

"Thanks," I say again, more sincerely this time. I hold up my plate a little so she knows what I'm talking about. She nods, but doesn't smile, her thoughts faraway. I move in a little closer, until my leg is practically brushing her hip. "Rogue, about yesterday --"

"Forget it," she interrupts, her voice firm. A tense smile takes form on her lips as she shoves me away, a little too rough of a push to be as playful as it seems. "Eat your breakfast, okay?"

"But --"

"Please, don't. I really don't want to talk about that right now. Look, we're having a nice breakfast and I'm actually having a really good time hanging out with you, so let's not spoil it by bringing up the past, okay?" Looking at me imploringly, she sighs as she takes note of my expression. It has changed from mild to possessive, my brows knit in contemplation. She sets her plate down and crosses her arms over her chest, her body language making it abundantly clear how uncomfortable she is. "Can we just forget about that?"

Try as I might, I can't forget for the feel of her lips on mine. Her reaction of shock and anger, catching me off guard, haunts me. "I really want to know," I prattle on, the bastard in me surfacing as my voice gets louder and louder. "What's that little prick got that I ain't got?"

"Oh my God, Logan! I cannot believe you!" Rogue's voice is absolutely furious. Red spots appear high on her cheeks as she stands up, kicking her plate aside. Food spills onto the pine needle carpet alongside broken bits of crockery. Her hands shake wildly as she backs away from me, mistrust and anger etched in her features. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"With me?" I roar, catching her as she dodges me. I shake her much harder than I mean to, my fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of her upper arms and creating bruises. I hear her screaming at me in pain and fear, but I can't muster the control to stop, as much as I want to. I'm hurting her like I want to her Pyro. It finally hits me exactly what I'm doing as I stare into her frightened eyes. My anger ebbs away, replaced by self-disgust as I see what I've done to her, how I've made her afraid of me. I want to apologize, but instead I bellow, "How can you leave me for that fucking asshole?"

She shudders as I shout at her, my face scarcely inches away from hers. Her eyes are slightly out of focus, staring past me. I can tell then that I've hurt her but I still can't let her go. Her mouth opens but she doesn't say a word, and I can feel her breathing hitch as I pull her in close to me. My arms enfold her automatically and I try to think of some way to tell her I'm sorry. I've never hurt her before, not intentionally, never physically. Her palms press against my chest she tries to back away or push me aside, but I don't allow her any freedom of movement even though I know I should. I'm angry still, irrepressibly so, despite the guilt and sorrow that floods me, yet my fury is tainted with arousal that I know I shouldn't feel, especially now as she fights weakly against my hold on her, still pushing me away. The animal in me fights for dominance, trying to take me over, and my nostrils widen, searching for the scent of musk that isn't there.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I croon as I sink down to the ground still holding her against me. She lays very still in my arms, conscious but trying not to provoke me. I can smell the fear coming off her in waves; she has never been afraid of me before. That hurts worst of all, knowing I've destroyed the trust between us. She sees me as nothing but an animal now, the way everyone else has always viewed me, I'm certain of it. I've driven the compassion right out of her. "I need you," I tell her, bowing my head so my forehead touches hers. "I can't --"

"I know." Her voice is very faint and carefully modulated, and my heart sinks at her careful tone. Her muscles are tense, frozen in position, and she stays that way, no longer fighting me back now that I've shown her exactly what I am capable of. I've hurt her.

"Rogue, I'm so sorry."

Her breathing is harsh in my ears but slowly she raises her head to look at me. Her dilated pupils go back to normal size but her face remains deathly pale. Her dark hair has come free of the ponytail, floating around her head in waves. "It's okay," she tells me, her voice unsteady. I know it is a lie, but I want so badly to believe that she understands me that I accept it. I catch hold of her hand and bring it up to my face, guiding her through the motion of caressing my cheek. Her hand freezes in my grip for an instant but then she lets me run her gloved palm down the side of my face. Tears cling to her eyelashes and she looks away from me, her jaw clenched so she won't cry out. It is then than I notice the awkward angle of her right arm.

"No," I exclaim, running my hand over her sleeve. It is a compound fracture, the broken edge of bone stabbing out through her skin, poking at her shirt sleeve. My fault, I recognize, and my heart sinks. I feel nauseated but I make myself slice through her sleeve delicately with a single claw until I can see the wound. It isn't exceptionally bloody but the white bone against her pale skin is shocking, and what blood there is adds a garish, macabre touch. "Marie..."

She winces as I run my hand up her arm, feeling for any further damage beneath her skin. Aside from the single break, she seems unharmed, but that does nothing to reassure me. I've hurt her, broken her with my own hands. Bile rises to my throat as I stare down at her white face and know what I've done to her. Watching her tears begin to spill, I know what I have to do. I peel off my own gloves, the ones I've taken to wearing to make her feel a little less alone, and settle my bare hand on the exposed skin of her wrist.

"Don't," she snaps at me, tears streaming down her face. I don't understand her refusal, and I ignore it. I assume she doesn't want another dose of me in her head; it can't be because she'd feel guilty about anything that happened to me. She hates me, and anyway I only have to hold on for a few seconds, long enough to transfer the dose of healing power to her body. I feel the pull open up between us and let the energy go out of my own body into her. I can hear her heartbeat in my head as her mutation works its magic, but then, too soon for my liking, she jerks away. Her arm is mended, just the tattered sleeve bearing witness to the break, and I feel a surge of relief which does nothing for my guilt.

"C'mon," I hear myself say distantly. I scoop her up and set her on her feet, hardly noticing that she does not protest. "You should see Hank."

She shakes her head, rubbing the place where her arm had broken. "I'm fine," she informs me stiffly.

I'm sure she just wants to get as far away from me as possible, and I can't blame her. The exhaustion I feel isn't so much the result of her mutation as my own guilt weighing me down. "Just let me help you inside," I reason with her. "Then you can do what you want. I just have to --" _Make sure you're safe_, flits through my head, and I almost utter a derisive laugh. I'm not her protector anymore, now I'm the enemy. "I have to know you're okay," I tell her instead.

"I am. Look, Logan, I'm perfectly fine." She holds out her mended arm and pulls back the torn fabric that was once her sleeve. "See?"

Swimming in guilt, I nod slowly. I want to tell her I'm sorry but I know how artificial that would sound, so I stay quiet. My pace slows as I stagger towards the front door of the mansion, trying to figure out what to do next. Hopping on Scott's bike and getting as far as hell away from the mansion as I can sounds appealing, but I don't suppose I deserve to run. I should have to bear witness, to watch Rogue go pale every time she sets eyes on me in the hall, to hear her cry at night as she has nightmares where I'm the one after her. It's that sort of torture I deserve, not the freedom of abandoning the only real home I've ever known.

After a few steps I notice she has not gone on ahead. She's at my side, keeping her strides even with mine. "What are you doing?" I growl at her, expecting her to jump at the sound of my voice. She doesn't. "I ain't gonna try and catch you if you run, if that's what you're thinking. Don't be afraid to go on without me."

She shakes her head at that, rolling her eyes and looking annoyed. "You think I'm that scared of you?"

"I know it," I say back, my voice low with self-hatred.

"Well, you're wrong about that," she answers simply. With a shrug, she looks me straight in the eye. "I'm pissed as hell at you Logan, and don't you forget it, but I'm definitely not afraid of you."

Her words catch me off guard and I stare at her, open-mouthed. "What?"

"I said, I'm not afraid of you," she answers, looking almost amused.

"But," my voice falters as I look her over. "I broke your arm! I hurt you."

"Do you honestly think I could have known you this long and not known about the Wolverine?" she demands, whirling on me. She has definitely taken the upper hand; submissive, I stand in silence. "I know what you're like, Logan. Hell, the first time I set eyes on you, you were beating some poor fellow to a bloody pulp. Then I got a dose of you in my head, twice -- well, three times now -- and I know what you've done, what you are capable of. None of it comes as a surprise to me."

"Yeah, but it was you this time."

"So you expect me to cower from you every time I see you now?" She eyes me evenly and sighs. "You do, don't you? You've got to get over that self-loathing and stop expecting everyone to find flaws with you. Yeah, it hurt like hell having my arm broken by somebody I've always loved, and I'm not going to forgive you for that for a while, but I'm not afraid of you. In case you've forgotten, you just healed me. I got your thoughts; I know it was a mistake. I know you didn't mean it."

"Loved?"

Her smile is bitter and she punches me on the arm. "Yeah, Logan. I've loved you, I've trusted you -- you've been my closest friend since I met you, probably the best friend I've ever had. I'll always love you." She looks down at the ground. "I'm just _in love_ with someone else."

Puzzled, I stare at her. "What's the difference?"

"I don't want to fuck you," she says bluntly, snickering as I raise an eyebrow at her boldness.

Emboldened, I move closer, planting myself just inches away from her until I know she can feel the heat radiating off my body. "What if I'm in love with you?"

"Then we're right back where we started from last night," she answers sadly, not the words I want to hear. She touches the side of my face gently and looks into my eyes. "Please let me have this," she whispers, her breath playing on my skin. "I'm happy with him, Logan, happier than I ever remember being. I'm not sure how long it will last, but I love him, and right now that's all I need." Her eyes bore into mine, mesmerizing. "If you love me, please let me be with him."

"If he hurts you," I say, my voice quivering. "I'll gut him." I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her close, but I know that will only make her pull away, so I stay absolutely still.

She smiles. Her body is so close that I can almost feel her against me. "Thank you, Logan," she whispers in my ear. For a moment, she studies me, then she hugs me, her head against my chest and her arms around me. I put one hand on her back just to let her know I'm there, wishing she would just stay like that, but she draws back after a moment. Without hesitating, she rises up on her toes and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she is gone, dashing into the mansion.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Not Your Girl

Summary: Rogue makes a bid for independence after she finds love with someone unexpected, but Logan isn't willing to accept that she doesn't want him anymore.

Major Characters: St. John, Rogue, Logan,

Minor Characters: Jubilee, Kitty, Scott, Bobby

Pairings: Rogue/Pyro, one-sided!Logan/Rogue

Setting: AU Post-X3. Most of the fic carries on from X3 (Alcatraz attack, the existence of the cure) but with a few differences: Scott survived Jean's return as Phoenix, Rogue never took the cure, and Pyro never left the school.

A/N: Instead of emphasizing the crush on Rogue's part, this fic is mainly one-sided (Logan's POV) Logan/Rogue. I wanted to try something a little different, and hopefully pulled it off. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think and how it can be improved.

* * *

It's been a couple of days since I let Rogue go. Of course, I've never _really_ left her -- I'm always a room away, close enough to hear her voice when she laughs at St. John's jokes, near enough to hear her breathing fall shallow as he reaches in, takes hold of the sheer scarf she's started wearing habitually, and pulls it across her lips before he kisses her. No matter how many times I bear silent witness to that act, it never stops hurting and yet somehow can I never get enough. I find myself leaning in the doorway as her gloved hands roam his skin and her eyes flutter closed. Watching him kiss her makes me want to go on a mindless rampage and attack everything in sight, especially him, but I keep still, trying to deny the jealousy and the voice in my head that never stops prompting me forward. 

Now, they are in one of the recreation rooms where she and Bobby used to play table hockey and watch movies snuggled on the couch. Drake is old news and he knows it. I've seen him sniffing around Kitty lately and that suits me fine. It's made her stop hovering anyway, and she no longer concentrates on getting to partner with me when I'm trying to teach them how to fight and survive. I almost miss the distraction of her jarring perfume though. No matter how hard I try, I can't keep my eyes off Rogue during the danger room simulations. I automatically follow her path through the simulations, hunting her down, though I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on all of the kids. It would be easier if Kitty and Jubes had kept up their squawking battle about who gets me, but since Kitty's backed off I'm automatically stuck with Jubilee. She's a handful, cracking her gum and constantly slipping behind the others because she just doesn't care enough, but I know Rogue is glad for that, since it stops me from following her through the sims. Hell, maybe it was Rogue who put her up to it. Jubes used to exhibit some talent in the danger room.

Rogue is watching TV, some mindless program the students watch religiously which follows the lives of some arrogant, superficial kids who've never encountered a single problem in their entire sheltered lives. The students love it. It distracts them from their own situations, the mutations they possess, the families that don't want them anymore. St. John, predictably, is watching Rogue instead of the TV. Can't blame him for that, she's far more fascinating than the show they have on. It bothers me when he slides closer to her, casually resting his arm on the seat behind her. She smiles at him distractedly and I take a step into the room.

"Hey, baby," Pyro whispers right under my nose, one hand trailing up Rogue's thigh. _Whoa, stop right there, bub_, I think, but I can't say a word or I'll give myself away. I watch as Rogue absentmindedly scoots away, still intent on the crap on TV. She looks tense. Her expression hasn't changed but her posture has. She straightens up and crosses her legs demurely, sliding to the right to create a gap between herself and her boyfriend. His hand falls to her knee and I relax a little, but then he moves over again, pressing her between him and the armrest. She has no place to go.

"What's the matter?" he breathes into her ear, causing her hair to flutter. He kisses the side of her face for one daring moment, not bothering to use the scarf as a barrier. Part of me is cheered when I see the pull in action, stealing color from his face. I hope she'll drain him dry and let him crumple dead to the floor, but he moves off for a second and then dives right back in, kissing her neck. I frown. He's done this before, that much is plain from his ease around her. He doesn't pull away in horror as her mutation activates; he hardly seems to notice.

"John," Rogue says, finally tearing her eyes from the television. She takes his hand firmly in her own, preventing him from stroking her leg. Her smile is forced. "Please stop." His fingers curl around hers but she lets go then, twisting a little to the side to avoid him.

_Good gir_l, I want to say. Her cold reaction does nothing to sate St. John's obvious lust, however. His skin looks hot and moist, perspiration shining on his forehead. His gaze is heavy with desire as his eyes travel over her body, drinking in the sight. She is wearing a green sweater today, so thin it is practically transparent. I can hear Pyro's breath quicken as his gaze drops her to breasts. His hand slips up to cup her left breast through her shirt and she shudders. "Stop it!"

"What?" He doesn't get it, that she doesn't want to be touched.

She meets his eyes and gives him a look that passes between them for a few seconds. Slowly, Pyro turns his head. When he sees me, he sneers. I realize, with a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach, it isn't that she doesn't want him, it's just that she doesn't want me to see. Laughing, St. John turns his back on me. He reaches his hand under Rogue's shirt, possessively touching her through her bra, flaunting his ability to put his hands on her when all I can do is watch, on fire from jealousy and desire of my own. As I watch, she bites her lip and turns red. Before she can say anything, he kisses her completely without finesse, claiming her lips for himself, experience evident in his motions. My hands curl into fists but Rogue rebuffs his advances before I can do anything.

"Don't, John," Rogue instructs him. Her voice is high and reedy with arousal, but her face is flushed pink. I can't avert my eyes and she appears to notice, because she shoves him off of her and makes a disappointed face.

Pyro looks at her with hurt eyes, but his grin is mocking. "What, is it because of Wolverine?" he sneers. "You don't want him to watch us, do you? Too bad. I've got news for you, baby, he's quite the voyeur. This isn't the first time." He reaches over to her shirt, unbuttoning the top button to expose a glimpse of creamy flesh. My breath stops. "He's watched you since you two first arrived here. Everywhere we turn, it's Wolverine waiting outside of the classroom, Wolverine listening at your door. He knows what we do. I think he likes watching you." Pyro snickers cruelly. I decide to kill him the next time he doesn't have Rogue with him. "Let's give him a show, if that's what he wants." Another button falls upon under his deft touch, and I step in.

"The lady said no, bub." My claws extend of their own accord, the points only a few centimeters from St. John's face. I fight to get my breathing under control and avoid the thoughts that tempt me to simply slit his throat and take my girl back. I settle for glaring. "You got that?"

"Anything you say, Wolverine," Pyro drawls sarcastically, his mouth twisted. He gets to his feet, one hand held out to Rogue. "C'mon, baby, let's find ourselves someplace where we can be alone." His glare is mean as he looks me over, but I can tell he's scared too. St. John puts up a good front, presenting himself differently from most of the other kids, but I can smell fear, and it isn't coming from Rogue. "Don't know why you stopped us," he spits towards me venomously. "It's not like you'll ever get to do the things I do to her. All you can do is watch. Spoiled a good opportunity to do just that, the way I see it."

My hands shake with fury but my aim is perfect as my claws seek out his throat. His chest heaves as I touch the sharp tips of my claws against his throat. Applying no pressure, I don't break the skin, but I know he'll have tiny telltale bruises tomorrow where the metal presses against his skin. I itch to drive my claws straight through his neck, but Rogue is looking at me intently, her eyes pleading. I retract my claws. "Get the hell out of here," I demand, sneering down at St. John.

"Come on, Rogue," he utters when he finds his voice. His words emerge shaky, still tainted with fear, but I have to give the kid credit for his courage. He holds his ground a moment more, reaching out for Rogue. "Let's go."

Rogue doesn't move. She shakes her head imperceptibly, her eyes traveling from my face to Pyro's as if weighing the options. "Go on ahead," I advise Pyro, knowing that if he hangs around another minute, throwing it in my face that Rogue loves him best, I'll kill him, and not even Rogue's screams will be able to hold me back.

Jamming his hands into his pockets, he glares at me. He spares Rogue a questioning glance but her eyes are on me, so he turns and shuffles out of the room, radiating hatred.

"Sorry," I say to the girl before me. I've gone and done it again, interfered with her life. She will always be a kid to me, as she was the first time I set eyes on her, but to the rest of the world she doesn't have much longer before she gains adult status. I can scent her lingering arousal in the air; she wanted St. John, would have had him if I hadn't kept such close tabs on her and invaded her privacy.

She shakes her head and I watch her relax, leaning back against the couch. Her breathing resumes a regular rhythm, though the red spots on her cheeks don't fade. "S' okay."

"Can I sit with you?" There is no one else in the recreation room, no one to infringe on a moment in her presence. She hasn't ignored me exactly, but lately she has been distant. Preoccupied, maybe, always with St. John from morning until night. I've followed her everywhere, but she hasn't paid me any mind, only occasionally acknowledging me when we pass in the halls and not stopping for conversation. I've missed her.

"Yeah." She pats the space beside her on the couch, her eyes on the TV again. A commercial is playing and someone is singing an annoying jingle that will probably get stuck in my head if I listen too long. As if she notices, she lowers the volume until it is inaudible.

I sink down beside her slowly. The seat is still warm from St John's body heat and I feel bad, not for running the little prick off but for being in Rogue's life when she doesn't want me. She has been good to me, putting up with my temper and eccentricity. Hell, I stabbed her through the chest not long after we met and she has never even tried to make me feel guilty about it, although of course I have. "Anything good on TV?" I inquire, trying to make conversation so she won't lapse into silence and ignore me.

"Nah." She clicks the remote, silencing the TV in the middle of a car rental commercial. "I can't concentrate on this crap." She stretches her arms and I feel the couch shift slightly as she gets to her feet. "Guess I'll have a walk before dinner. I've been inside all day, I could use the fresh air." I stay where I am, not asking to accompany here, because I'm pretty sure it's an excuse to go find Pyro and carry on what they started, and I don't want her to have to lie to me about that. She gives me a funny look though and smiles. "You can come with if you want."

"Better idea," I counter, thinking longingly of Scott's bike, which I've come to think of as my own. "Let me buy you an ice cream cone. You're up for a ride, aren't you?" She looks at me in shock and I can't help but laugh. "On the bike," I amend. "Are you up for taking out the bike?"

"Yeah!"

Excitement shines in her eyes as she nods vigorously. It is the first emotion she has displayed towards me in days aside from anger and sadness. Her reaction draws a smile from my lips and I feel a little notion of superiority, thinking of Pyro sulking in his bedroom upstairs. Taking her hand, I lead her towards the garage. Cyke is there, working on one of his cars, but he barely raises an eyebrow as Rogue swings one leg over the bike and settles in. Maybe he has just gotten used to my possessiveness towards his toys; more likely he doesn't want to spoil Rogue's time by arguing. They've always been friends. Either way, I'm thankful, enough that I might even fill the thing up with gas before we head back.

The bike roars to life and I rev it up for good measure, sending a deafening sound ricocheting through the garage. Scott spares us a perturbed glance, shaking his head ruefully before reaching into his tool-kit. I don't make a habit of spending time with him -- we got off on the wrong foot and the situation has never really righted itself despite all we've been through -- but I'm relieved to see him outside, his face not the mask of grief it's been over the past weeks. Losing Jean all but killed him, but he's getting better.

"Are we going?" Rogue shouts over the roar of the engine.

In response, I flip the kickstand up and rev the bike again. We take off with a sudden jolt. Rogue releases a little scream that dissolves into laughter and her arms tighten around my waist. We meander down the driveway, but when we reach the road I can't help but open it up, urging the bike faster because for every extra increment of speed, Rogue's hold on me is stronger. Her hair whips behind us like a flag, her hands securely nestled near my stomach.

We arrive in town too quickly. I savor the feel of her arms hooked around my waist, hanging on desperately, and the sensation of her leaning against my back, her chin tucked over my shoulder so she can see. I ease the bike around a curve and pull in to little ice cream store where the kids from Xavier's like to gather during their rare outings behind the confines of the school.

"Think this place has beer?" I ask.

Rogue shakes her head in amusement. "Don't suppose so," she replies. "We can go somewhere else if you like. I don't expect you to ruin your big, bad Wolverine image by hanging out in an ice cream parlour with the kiddies."

"That could do serious damage to my reputation," I agree in mock seriousness. "I promised you ice cream though, so it's your call. Don't want you to think I lured you away from the school to get you drunk."

"Over there," Rogue decides, pointing to one of the town's taverns. A neon sign flashes from one dusty window, advertising Molsons's -- my kind of place. "You can get me drunk anytime," she remarks easily. She laughs at the expression on my face as her comment catches me off guard. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she beams up at me, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Would it sound better if I said I could use a burger?"

"What ever way you want it, kid," I answer back as we slip into the usual banter. She doesn't seem angry with me. I catch hold of her hand and she permits it, even letting me intertwine my fingers with hers possessively. "Didn't mean to piss you off back there," I tell her as we walk across the street. "St. John," I continue as she gives me a questioning look. "It wasn't any of my business. Guess I need some lessons in keeping my distance."

"Nah, it's fine," she retorts easily.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

I hold the door open for her, the one gentlemanly gesture in my repertoire. She glides in easily, not shrinking away as she brushes against me. Her smile is irrepressible and I don't get it, don't understand why. I've forced my way into her life since picking her up on the side of the road, but she doesn't seem angry. "I'm tryin', kid."

"Trying what?"

_To figure out some way to live without you_, I think. "To get used to you and the match stick."

"Don't worry about it, Logan," she tells me.

We step into the smoky gloom of the bar. It is basically deserted at this early hour, but a few die-hard customers linger at the bar and the shabby pool table. There is a menu board with the specials written in neon pink pen, a couple of pinball machines in the back. Like always, I take note of the way out and an alternate escape route. I might not have many memories, but I have instinct, and it rarely fails me.

"You okay?" Rogue asks me after a moment.

"Yeah, why?"

She shrugs. "You're awfully quiet."

I reach into my jacket pocket and take out a cigar. Staring reflectively into the flame that burns on the tip of the match, I light it. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

I'm thinking about Laughlin City, actually, and the first time I saw her, but I don't want to tell her that so I merely shake my head and inhale the strong smoke of my cigar. I can still remember exactly what she looked like the first time I laid eyes on her. She looked haunted. Her face was lean with the look of someone who hadn't had a decent meal for a long time and her eyes were fearful, drinking in the unfamiliar sights of the cage-fight and the bar. She looked utterly out of place, swimming in the oversized green parka that obscured her shape. Her hair was completely brown then, no pale streaks, but her face hasn't really changed since the day I reluctantly pulled over and let her into the cab of the truck.

A waitress comes up, disturbing my thoughts, and takes our orders for burgers and fries. I get a beer and Rogue orders a coke, but before the woman can turn away I add two shots of the house whiskey. Rogue isn't technically old enough to drink, but the Xavier's staff tend to turn a blind eye to that sort of thing among the older crowd. They've proven themselves by now, followed the demanding schedule of training and classes for years, accompanied the team on various high-profile missions, and no one but Scott makes much of an issue about one of the students having alcohol on their breath. I'm pretty sure he'll look the other way where Rogue's concerned, and anyway it's worth the lecture he'll give me to see her face light up.

"Here." I slide one of the shots across the table to her and she picks it up without hesitation. My aim isn't to get her drunk, though I'm not adverse to it if she's willing, but I know she loves that acknowledgement that she isn't just a kid in my eyes.

"Yeah?" she asks questioningly, raising the shot to her lips. I peer over the edge of my shot glass, watching the amber liquid pour down her throat. She doesn't cough or wimp out, and I feel a surge of pride. My girl.

The food arrives and there is a lull in the conversation. It doesn't last long. "You're sure you aren't mad at me for buttin' in again?" I ask. Normally I'm not this insecure, but she is my stability and I'm still unsure what she thinks of me.

"No, I'm not mad at you at all. Really, Logan, I'm not." She smiles at me and it is a sincere smile, reflected in her eyes. "I didn't stop John just because you were there, you know."

"No?"

"No. Look, I really like him, I mean, I can talk to him about just about anything and he understands. John was the person I went to when I first suspected Bobby was interested in Kitty. Everyone else told me I was crazy, but he actually listened. I can't help but appreciate that. This afternoon, though, he was actually getting on my nerves before you even came in. I'm not used to all this -- physical stuff," she adds with a blush. "Obviously, I mean, my skin is dangerous, so I haven't had a lot of experience with that. John has. I know it's been on his mind and I thought maybe it would work out for the good. Touching is exactly what I've wanted for so long. Only, it's turned out that I'm just not as ready as I thought I was. The fact that you were there was just a convenient excuse because I really didn't want to disappoint him."

"Kid. Rogue." I reach across the small table, taking hold of both of her hands and looking her straight in the eye. "You could never be a disappointment to anybody."

"Easy for you to say," she remarks disdainfully, but she doesn't pull out of my grasp. "It's impossible, you know. I really hoped it would work out between me and John, but I already know how it will end up. Sooner or later, he's going to break up with me the way Bobby did. I know he loves me, but I can't touch him or get close to him, and pretty soon he'll find a girl who can. There's nothing I can do about that, and I guess I have to face it. I'm never going to be enough for anybody, not with all the limitations."

I shake my head and grip her hands harder. "Don't say that. You're -- how can anyone think you're not all they ever wanted and more?"

As if she doesn't hear me, she continues. "Sometimes I think I should have taken the cure." She gives me a look that silences me when I try and protest. "I know, they've discovered that it doesn't last. I've heard about the negative side effects, the reactions, the allergies. Still, sometimes I think it would have been worth it for the temporary happiness. You have no idea what it's like, to balance being utterly alone with the privilege of touching someone, knowing if I give in, they'll have to pay." She sighs, her eyes faraway. "Sometimes I still think about being in that line, you know. I waited forever to get near the entrance, but when it was my turn to go in, I chickened out. Nobody new about the harmful effects; I don't know what kept me from just taking it. I guess it was your voice in my head." She smiles wearily. "I never thanked you for that."

"You don't have to," I assure her. "I'm just glad you didn't go through with it." In the ashtray, the last of cigar disappears in ashes. "Whatever you believe, you have to know it wouldn't have been worth it. Just think if you had taken it and I'd walked in and seen some guy pawing you. I'd have to kill him, and that would just about ruin everything," I inform her, trying to lighten her mood. She smiles a little, finally. "You don't have to give up your powers to find someone who loves you," I go on, my voice more serious.

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "You?"

"Yeah," I confirm, nodding. "I love you, Marie. I wasn't lying when I told you that before."

"But," she stares up at me quizzically. "I've seen your memories in my head." She doesn't go further, but I know what she's talking about: the one night stands, the nameless fucks in the alley after the bar closes, cheap motels.

"None of that mattered," I assure her. "There's a reason none of it was very memorable. Look, I won't deny it. Every time I look at your lips I want to kiss you, even when you're shouting at me to leave you alone, but I'm not just after sex. The Professor has said when you're ready he'll work with you on control, so you don't have to settle for me if I'm not what you want, but you do need to know I love you, and I will always love you even if there is no way around your mutation. You know I've never been afraid to touch you."

"Yeah, and I've watched you suffer the consequences," she adds. Her expression is grim, filled with self-loathing even though she can't help the effects of touching her.

"That's what healing abilities are for," I joke, shrugging. "It's worth every bit of pain, believe me."

She takes a deep breath and after a moment excuses herself to go outside for a breath of fresh air. I'm half-convinced she's going to find a pay-phone and call someone at the mansion to pick her up, but after I pay the bill I find her standing on the sidewalk under the awning of the bar, simply waiting.

"Sorry," she says to me as we step out into the sunlight. "Just needed to breathe."

"I understand." Glancing over to make the bike is where I left it, I gingerly take her hand. I don't want to return to the mansion just yet; I'm enjoying her company and the absence of noisy kids and her pesky boyfriends interrupting constantly, but I know I can't keep her with me against her will. "Ready to head back?"

"No."

Her answer surprises me, as I figured she would welcome the opportunity to put some distance between us and not have to deal with everything I said. I've surprised myself, with all the sappy words I told her over our meal that sounded more like Scott's typical conversation than mine, but they were all true. I'm even more surprised when she lets me wrap an arm around her shoulders and momentarily rest my cheek against her soft hair.

"I've got plenty of cash," I announce before I can stop myself. "We could take off, go somewhere new for a while. If you want to, of course." I'm certain she will refuse me, but I can't help but try. It's what I've wanted for the longest time, her alone. We haven't been alone together since Sabretooth tossed a broken tree in front of my truck. Since then, it's been the X-men, the constant intrusion of the team's needs and Rogue's friends, and only a few stolen minutes to have her to myself.

She nods. "Okay," she agrees easily.

"You're serious?" I stammer.

"Yeah, if you are." She laughs at me. "John'll probably burn the mansion down when I don't come back right away, and I can look forward to a long lecture by both Ororo and Scott, but it sounds nice, and I could definitely use a vacation from the school right now."

We head back over to the bike and I wonder how Cyke will react when it doesn't come back to him. I decide I don't care; it's more mine than his if usage is any gauge of ownership. Neither of us have packed anything, but I don't dare go back to the mansion, guessing that if we do, St. John will take her out of leaving in a matter of seconds. There is plenty of money in my various accounts, the ones Chuck has set up for me under various fake names, and there is a nice sized wad of cash in my jacket pocket. I settle Rogue in front of me, so she can see where we are going.

"Need to call your boyfriend?" I ask as I settle myself onto the seat behind her.

She teases me, momentarily looking as if she is seriously considering phoning John, but she laughs when she feels me tense behind her. "Nah. He'll live."

I nuzzle against her hair for a moment, drinking in her scent. It is clear of Pyro's smell, the wind having whipped her hair clean of him. She leans back into my arms, letting me kiss the sensitive skin on the side of her neck. For the first time, she doesn't tense up or pull away, and I smile, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other balancing the handlebars. As I rev the bike and steer it down the street, heading due north instead of back to the mansion, I sigh in contentment, holding my girl.


End file.
